EDITORIAL: Blizzard was one generation’s history

Salem News (MA)

Feb. 06--Every generation has its blockbuster moments, the events that older people hold up to younger ones to show how tough we were, or how much we endured, like no one before or since.

For anyone over 50, the Feb. 6-7, 1978 storm, the Blizzard of '78, falls neatly into that category.

For those of you who look at an event 40 years ago as ancient history, just pull out your handheld device and Google it. But wait, in 1978, a handheld device was an electric shaver and Google was still 20 years in the future. In 1978, phones were plugged into the wall and didn't travel well.

So what was the big deal? How could meteorologists have gotten it so wrong?

In 1978 the Weather Channel didn't exist and Boston TV stations didn't obsess over impending storms like they do today. Back then, it was just another snowstorm on the way. A storm two weeks earlier had piled 21 inches on eastern Massachusetts. When weatherman (that's what he was called back then) Harvey Leonard, who was just 29, warned on air early the morning of Feb. 6 that "we are going to get hit hard," people took it in stride. It's New England. It's just snow. We're tough.

By early afternoon, the snow was coming down at a steady rate and the thousands of people who decided to leave work early had no way of knowing it would keep coming for some 36 hours. Traffic on Route 128 and I-93 became gridlocked, and as blowing snow drifted over stalled vehicles and drivers started abandoning them, the highways quickly turned into parking lots.

First-term Gov. Michael Dukakis eventually declared a snow emergency and banned all civilian vehicles statewide, hoping to leave roads open for snowplows and emergency vehicles. Newspaper delivery trucks got a special dispensation to drive, although many newspapers couldn't get enough staff to the office to put out a paper -- much less deliver one. And remember, the dawn of the internet age was still a dozen years off.

Everyone who was beyond toddler age in 1978 has stories to tell, about climbing out a second window to get out of a house because 6-foot drifts blocked all the doors. Or of tunneling through snow in the driveway to find the street. Or, after the powerful winds and steady snow finally ended, of pulling a sled to the corner store -- which somehow remained open -- or cross-country skiing down main streets without a car in sight.

Neighbors looked in on neighbors, people who dug out and were greeted by sun on Feb. 8, shared their provisions with people down the street who hadn't had the chance to stock up before the blizzard roared in.

While the blizzard brought the region to a standstill, in many places it was deadly, taking almost 100 lives across New England. Many people died from carbon monoxide as they waited in their stuck cars for rescuers to arrive. Others died in acts of heroism.

Salem Harbor was the scene of one such tragedy. After the oil tanker Global Hope ran aground off the coast and put out a mayday call, the pilot boat Can Do, with Captain Frank Quirk and four crew members, struggled out through waves driven by 100 mph winds to attempt a rescue. Quirk made his last broadcast around 3:30 a.m. Feb. 7, before waves crashed into the pilot house and sank the Can Do, taking all hands. Ironically, the crew of the Greek oil tanker was later rescued safely, but not before thousands of gallons of heavy oil poured from the damaged ship and coated the Marblehead shoreline.

It was a mighty storm, unlike any that generation had experienced. There have been others since then, and national and world events that mark the lives of each succeeding generation. That's the way history works. When we experience it, it's not just history. It's personal.

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